


Changing of the Seasons

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Autumn, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harvest Festival, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kansas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Dean and his best friend Cas are back in their hometown for the annual harvest festival. The weather's perfect, the company's great--except their friend Charlie is tired of Dean's constant mooning over Cas, and Dean knows he has to tell Cas about his feelings before she does.But what is he supposed to say?
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	Changing of the Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> this was mostly an excuse to write something cute for fall, because I had a great need. the shoutout of all shoutouts goes to [lovemuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemuppet/pseuds/lovemuppet) ([haybibi-qq](https://haybibi-qq.tumblr.com) on tumblr) and [make_your_user_a_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_your_user_a_name/pseuds/make_your_user_a_name) ([tearsofgrace](https://tearsofgrace.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for beta-ing this and cheering me on! this fic is *exponentially* better as a result. 
> 
> extra props goes to the profound bond discord server for helping me brainstorm a couple things. if you're 18+, [join us!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) we're good fun :)
> 
> if you liked this, i post more stuff here sometimes and also on [my tumblr](https://one-more-offbeat-anthem.tumblr.com) :) happy autumn (at least where i live)!

_Crunch_. 

Dean Winchester whipped his head around to see that his best friend crashing his bike headlong into a tree, and that said best friend was now sprawled on the ground next to the bike in a pile of leaves.

“Cas, you dumbass,” Dean said, running over, “How did you do that?” 

“I wasn’t…” Cas rubbed his head, “I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where I was going.”

“No shit.” 

Dean helped Cas up—he didn’t seem to be bleeding, although the bike didn’t look pleased with the situation—and then pulled him into a hug. “I missed you,” he said.

“You saw me _yesterday_.” Cas’s eye roll was almost audible. 

“Yeah, but Jack was monopolizing your attention.” (Jack was Cas’s nephew, who was quite possibly the most adorable child Dean had ever seen.)

Cas pulled back, “And you and I _live together_.”

“Fine!” Dean laughed, “C’mon, Mom’s gonna lose it if we don’t help her set up soon.” Dean glanced sidelong at Cas, “What time are your parents coming?”

“I don’t know,” Cas replied, “They’re still not speaking to me.” 

“You know, I know where they live. I’ll fight ‘em.” Dean knew that Cas had stayed with his oldest brother, Michael, the night before (hence hanging out with Jack), because Cas’s parents, who had spent the last fourteen years of Dean’s life being fairly nice people, had decided to become jerks when their youngest son came out as gay. 

“Dean.”

They stopped walking, and Dean kicked some leaves idly. “What? If they’re not gonna be accepting, I can fight them.”

“I don’t want to make things worse.”

Dean sighed. Cas was right. As much as he and Cas shared nearly everything, it wasn’t his life, wasn’t his call to make. So he dropped it and kept walking. 

The annual harvest festival at the end of September was actually where Dean and Castiel Milton (or, as he preferred to be called, Cas) had met. They had been seven at the time, both bobbing for apples, and had instantly become best friends—now, they were both nearly twenty-one and juniors in college. Even though it was a five-hour drive back to Lawrence, Kansas, from where they went to school, they still came back every year for the festival. 

The leaves were the perfect amount of crunchy underfoot, and the sky was a clear, cloudless blue. It was just cool enough to be a little chilly in their sweaters—the best kind of weather. 

The path was lined with brightly colored tents, in shades of white, orange, and yellow, with the various townspeople setting up their wares--candles, crafts such as knitted goods, and an awe-inspiring amount of food. Dean knew that, beyond the rows of tents, were games and activities for children--apple-bobbing, cornhole, a cakewalk…the smell of caramel filled the air, and Dean took a deep breath in. 

“Well…” Dean said, trying to find a way to shake the tension, “I heard that the Singers are doing the hot cider thing again this year.”

“Did I hear my last name?” The silver-haired head of Karen Singer popped out from behind the row of tents they were walking past.

“You sure did, Mrs. Singer!” Dean let her pull him into a hug. “How are you?”

“Good, now that the festival is here.” She released Dean and turned her attention to Cas. “I was actually just looking for you boys.” She dropped her voice low, “Our storyteller for the haunted hayride decided to bail.”

“I know,” Cas said, groaning. “That’s what you get for putting Gabriel in charge.”

“I was hoping the two of you would be willing to take over?

Dean exchanged a glance with Cas, “Sure!”

“That’s great. We’ll need you here at nine pm, okay? Dean, tell your mama I said hello!”

“Will do!”

“I still can’t believe Gabe’s going to Vegas right now,” Cas said with a sigh as they kept walking. “I should have never let you give him relationship advice.” 

“I told him to follow his heart! How could that be bad?” Dean said, raising his eyebrows in mock-innocence. 

Cas fixed him with a withering glance, his voice deadpan, “Hm, I have no idea.” 

Dean laughed as they kept walking. Gabriel was the middle brother, tucked between Cas and Michael, and he was also the wild child of the family. Hence falling in love with a stripper and chasing her to Vegas. 

(Per Dean’s advice, of course.)

They finally got to Dean’s mom’s tent, where his little brother, Sam (who was only seventeen but somehow towered over Dean), was neatly arranging pies. Mary Winchester had a knack for baking the best apple pies on this side of Kansas (or, in Dean’s opinion, the whole country), although at the moment, he wasn’t appreciating that, because she instantly ordered them to work.

Dean loved his mom. She was the only parent he and Sam had left, and she somehow always did the work of two effortlessly, even now, with her greying blonde hair pushed back and a smear of flour across her nose. She was wearing a leather jacket that had been their father’s, but she quickly shed it as they moved boxes and organized.

After an hour of helping both his mom and the people around her move things into place, Dean flopped onto the back of his mom’s truck, dangling his feet over the tailgate. With all the pies set out, the smell was heavenly, with traces of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. A little ways away, at the mouth of another tent, he could see Cas eagerly explaining something to Sam, and he allowed himself a brief moment to admire his best friend.

Dean had never been able to confess it to Cas, now laughing at something Sam had said, that he was sorta-kinda-hopelessly in love with him. Instead, Dean catalogued all of the things he liked about Cas— _his eyes (bluer than blue, if that was possible), his smile lines, his bird’s nest of dark hair, his penchant for wearing sweaters with sleeves that were too long, his inability to cook_ —and kept them in his chest. 

“Mooning again, Winchester?”

Dean turned to glare at his friend Charlie Bradbury, who was standing there smugly, wearing a purple plaid flannel that clashed epically with her bright red hair. She had an eyebrow raised and a coy smile on her face.

“Shut up,” Dean said, moving over to let her sit next to him on the tailgate, “I wasn’t _mooning_.”

“If you stare at him too much, your eyes’ll fall out.”

“Will not.” Dean punched her shoulder, “Where have you been? You missed all the hard work.”

“That’s where I was—missing all the hard work.” Charlie dropped her voice, “Seriously, Dean, when are you going to say something? I think I would have lost my mind by this point if I still saw you guys all the time like I did when we were in high school,”

“Cas doesn’t feel the same, so it’s not worth it. Besides, our friendship is more important to me.”

“Hm….and that’s why you guys are wearing matching sweaters, right?” Her other eyebrow went up.

Dean glanced down at his sweater, cable-knit and a deep, forest green. “They were Cas’s idea.” (He noticed when he glanced up that Sam had abandoned Cas, and now Cas was talking with Charlie’s best friend Jo Harvelle, who had a serious expression on her face.)

“Really? He thought you should have matching sweaters?”

Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he likes me. Best friends do this stuff all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s why you see Jo and I always wearing the same outfits.” Charlie rolled her eyes, “Face it: the only reason you two aren’t together is because you’re too chicken to make a move.” 

“I’m not—“ Dean spluttered, “Fine. If I say something to him, will you leave me alone?”

“I’m giving you a deadline. If I leave you to your own devices, you’ll say something ten years from now and decide that counts.” Charlie nudged him, “I’m giving you until midnight tonight. I wanna hear that you said something. Hell,” a wicked grin appeared on Charlie's face,”I wanna hear that you guys _kissed_.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean said flatly. He had imagined it plenty of times, but he usually shut off imagining, because it didn’t feel good to think about something that wasn’t real. 

“Never say never. Strange things can happen at the harvest festival.” Charlie tweaked his nose, hopping off of the tailgate, “I’ll see you around.”

Cas walked over, “How’s Charlie?”

“She’s fine,” Dean said, sliding back to the ground, off of the truck, “How’s Jo?”

“Pretty much the same."

Dean glanced around. “We should help Mom. These pies aren’t gonna sell themselves.”

*****

It was, by all accounts and reckonings, one of the best harvest festivals Lawrence had seen. Dean drank more apple cider than should be strictly allowed, they sold out of pies, and the gorgeous fall weather held. 

Throughout the day, Dean kept getting stomach-twisting reminders of his promise to Charlie. When he and Cas got conscripted by Michael into taking Jack bobbing for apples, he felt his heart swell, watching Cas play with his nephew. And there was the usual stuff, too—the way Cas stuck out his tongue in concentration as he counted change for people, his bee-patterned socks that were visible when he crossed his legs, and now, as they stood waiting for the Singers to arrive with the tractor and trailer for the hayride, the way Cas moved effortlessly into Dean’s personal space to warm himself up, as if leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder and fingering his sweater cuffs was nothing.

“S’chilly,” Cas said, glancing up at Dean in the moonlight.

“Well, it’s fall,” Dean sighed, instinctively putting an arm around his best friend’s shoulder. 

“Ha.” 

The rumbling of the approaching tractor cut off any thoughts Dean was having of saying something, and he tried to spend the hayride forgetting about it. 

It was hard, though. Cas was doing most of the storytelling, occasionally dragging Dean into it for sound effects, and the children on the hayride were enthralled. Cas was good with kids and his knees kept knocking against Dean’s. 

“Thanks for filling in,” Bobby said to them once they were back, “The kids loved it.”

“It was mostly Cas,” Dean said. 

“We all know you two are a package deal.” The older man clapped them both on the back, “I expect you won’t need a ride home?”

Dean shook his head, “No, we brought my car.”

“That old car!” Bobby laughed, “Your dad would be happy to know it’s still running after all these years. I’ll see you boys tomorrow morning, eh?”

It was true, Dean reflected as they walked through the now biting late-night wind back to his car, that he could drive something more practical than John Winchester’s long, black, ’67 Chevy Impala, but it wouldn’t be the same. His dad’s last harvest festival had been nearly eight years ago, a few months before he passed, and Dean felt an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold.

As he got into the car and Cas slid into the passenger’s seat next to him, Dean reflected, drumming his fingers on the wheel, on what to do. It was after ten pm, and once he dropped Cas off at Michael’s house, he wasn’t going to see him again until tomorrow. 

Ordinarily, Dean would decide to figure something out tomorrow, but he knew two things: one, Charlie would bug him incessantly if he didn’t say anything, and two, she would probably just tell Cas herself, which would be the worst. 

Cas buckled his seatbelt and immediately started talking about the next day, where there would be more activities, including the ridiculous Little Miss Harvest contest. He was halfway through rhapsodizing about the local honey the Turners had and how great it had been to visit the hives when he and Dean had last been in town when he turned to Dean and said suddenly, “Why haven’t you started the car?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed thickly, “Got, uh, sidetracked.”

Cas wrinkled his nose. “What, listening to me drone on about bees and honey?”

“Actually, yeah.”

Cas smiled a little bit, “I do my best.”

It must have been that smile, the little wrinkles at the corners of Cas’s eyes, that caused something in Dean to break, because before he knew it, he had unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the bench seat, impulsively pressing his lips against Cas’s. 

It was like kissing a brick wall. Cas sat there, stunned, unmoving, and Dean decided that the only logical thing to do was to fling himself out of the Impala and run across the field where all the tents had been set up earlier in the day, as far away as he could. 

He heard a car door slam, and then a voice, Cas’s voice, calling, “Dean!” He ignored it, until suddenly he felt himself being tackled from behind. Dean face-planted into a pile of crisp leaves, the weight of a heavily-breathing Cas sprawled across his back.

“What,” Cas panted, “The hell was that?!”

“I dunno,” Dean managed to shake Cas off of him and sit up so that they were facing each other, “Couldn’t be that you just fucking sat there while I kissed you!”

“I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me!”

“No shit.” Dean shook his head, glaring off into the darkened distance, “Hey, we can forget about all this, alright? We don’t have to think about it again, it’s not that impor—“

He found himself cut off by Cas leaning forwards and kissing him, pushing him backwards until they were sprawled out on the ground in the pile of leaves again, facing each other this time. Cas brought his hands up to cup Dean’s icy cheeks, and their teeth knocked together with the force of it.

“What—“ Dean spluttered, after Cas had pulled away, “I thought you weren’t interested!”

“I _was_ , but I didn’t want to say anything…” Cas’s mouth was still close to Dean’s, and Dean could feel the curve of his smile, “A certain Jo Harvelle may or may not have bullied me into promising to say something.”

“Of course!” Dean sat up, smacking his forehead with his palm, remembering seeing Jo talking to Cas with a serious expression on her face while he himself had been chatting with Charlie, “Charlie cornered me today and said I had to talk to you. Figures that they would gang up on us.” 

“Are you that upset about it?” 

Dean’s view of Cas in the moonlight was faint, but he knew that, at this point, Cas’s eyes were probably sparkling. He leaned in to kiss him again, “Not really.” Then he stood up, offering a hand to Cas, “Now let’s go back. It’s fucking cold.”

“You ran out here!”

“You-” Dean rolled his eyes, pulling Cas to his feet, “Whatever.” 

He made to walk back to the car, but before he could, Cas was pulling him into a hug, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder, and suddenly he didn’t mind the cold so much. 

  
  



End file.
